


Retrograde

by Yansoo



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Bible Quotes, Biblical References, Bonding, Bunker Ending, Caretaking, Edens Gate, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Hate to Love, Hope County, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mutual Hypocrisy, Mutual Pining, Nuclear Ending, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Predestination, Protectiveness, Psychological Trauma, Reader is Deputy (Far Cry), Religion, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Resist Ending, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Survivor Guilt, conflicted Deputy, conflicted Joseph, divine intervention, regretful Deputy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yansoo/pseuds/Yansoo
Summary: He was right. He was right all along. So now it’s just the two of you, alone in a bunker, the world above in flames. If you don’t manage to kill each other, then you’ll have to learn to love each other.Trailer for this story: https://youtu.be/8ygnqTT8zho





	1. Heaven and Hell

Joseph Seed found himself filled with emotion. He could feel the warmth of God’s favor on him and the glow of triumph. He could feel the satisfaction, the comfort, and relief of knowing the long wait was over. It was a weight off his shoulders. All the years he had suffered and endured and anticipated the Collapse. The promise that the Voice had given him had been fulfilled. The Lord had finally cleansed the world of the unrighteous. He had paved the way to salvation. Joseph should’ve been celebrating. He should've been singing and dancing.  
But he knew this holy victory was bittersweet. He had won and lost. His family, His brothers, his sister; all gone. Taken by a snake in the garden. Destroyed by locusts in the field. Joseph was only left with the grace and protection of God, the cold, dark walls of an unfamiliar bunker, and the lifeless, empty gaze of the very person who had brought about such devastation upon him.  
But the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh.

The Deputy didn’t speak much after The Collapse; then again she hadn’t spoken much during either. When they’d first met, Joseph had assumed she was mute. But he was mistaken. The times she had been consumed by wrath, the sin his brother John had aptly engraved across her chest, her words had power. A power that rivaled his own, enough to ignite a holy war in Hope County. A voice equally matched by fiery eyes and a resilient, stubborn spirit.  
Joseph remembered the moment she had resisted him. He had admired her spirit then, but her words pained him. He had given her one last chance to leave, after all the bloodshed and violence. Even after she had killed his siblings, he had given her a final choice: Resist him, or walk away. Despite the hesitation in her eyes, her response was clear.

“I’m not leaving, Joseph.”

It had disappointed him to no end. Much worse than when she handcuffed him the day they’d met, worse than when she’d gathered a band of her so-called friends to destroy his monument, and even worse than the times she had made martyrs of his family. The three people he had loved most, searched for years to find, promised to protect and guide. Even though she had shot his youngest brother John’s plane down, beaten his sister Faith until she gave in, and shot his oldest brother Jacob dead, it had hurt Joseph the most that the Deputy had refused to leave well enough alone. That even with all the chaos she had already wrought, the lives that were lost, the people that were tortured and killed because of her, it wasn’t enough.

Though a part of him understood that it was God’s plan, his will; even God offers a choice; a chance to stop, turn back, and start again. Joseph debated in his mind many times how many second chances were too many for the Deputy. He had forgiven her when she killed John. He had forgiven her when she took his Faith from him. He had even forgiven her when his followers filed into the church, wailing in agony over Jacob’s death. If she had chosen to stop there, he was more than willing to forgive. God wanted him to forgive.  
‘Condemn not, and you will not be condemned.’  
It was difficult not to condemn her now. It took strength not to just decide keeping her alive wasn’t worth the effort. But he had a duty. God had chosen her, just as he had chosen him. Who was he to resist the will of God, even now? He was still the Father, the Keeper, and the Shepherd. He still had a family to lead to the Gates of Eden, even if that “Family” only consisted of himself and his enemy.  
If he was Heaven, she was Hell. If he was Salvation, she was Damnation.  
His enemy, who had resisted him at every turn; who had cursed his name with fire and destruction. But who was she now? Where had her choices led her?

The woman that Joseph saw in front of him was very much a shell of her former self.  
The flame burning behind her eyes had been snuffed out.  
Joseph could remember the very moment it had happened. He had freed her from the burning car, carried her unconscious body through the rubble until they’d reached the bunker, and handcuffed her wrists to the frame of one of the beds. He had cleaned and bandaged the ghastly cut across her forehead so the blood wouldn’t run into her eyes. He wanted her to see his face. He waited silently, listening to the radio as an emergency broadcast crackled through the dusty speakers until he heard the faint groan of pain from the Deputy as she awoke. He could hear her as she struggled against her constraints, a distressed whimper leaving her lips as she saw the body of her friend, ‘Dutch’ as they called him; lying dead on the ground. He had attacked Joseph first of course, and Joseph felt little guilt ending his life. Until finally he could feel the Deputy’s eyes on his back; the eerie silence that came over her. He switched the radio off and turned to her.

“Do you know what this means?”

No response, only fire behind the eyes, burning holes in his skin as it always did. That reflexive glare she always shot at him. Joseph knew it would fade soon enough, because in the end, she had failed.

“It means the politicians have been silenced. It means the corporations have been erased.” Joseph raised his arms to heaven.  
“It means the world has been cleansed by God’s righteous fire.”

His eyes met hers again. It hadn’t fully sunk in yet. He could tell. But the fire was flickering now, like an irritated candle flame. Joseph approached her slowly.  
“But most of all-“  
He crouched low until his eyes were level with hers.  
“It means I was right.”

At that moment, it happened. The spark behind her eyes went out instantly. Snuffed out like a candle flame in the wind. She exhaled sharply, gasping for a solid breath of air to steady herself as Joseph continued, sitting back in the chair across from the Deputy.  
Her eyes widened until they could no further, her hands shook, beads of sweat formed and ran down her face, mixed with the blood and grime from the crash, and Joseph wondered what terrifying images of the outside world she was envisioning. He wondered if she could remember the bodies of her friends in that car crash; lifeless, crushed. But Joseph continued, his words weren’t for pity. There was no flame in the deputy’s eyes, only terror, and despair. She didn’t break eye contact with him. She could feel his controlled anger radiating off of him like heat, the rage within him as he expressed how he, justifiably so, could easily kill her right then and there if he wanted, and she would be powerless to stop him. Hell, she deserved it. She just stared back at him, but he didn’t lay a hand on her; he just leaned back, his eyes leering into hers as he spoke. His goal from the beginning didn’t change, his duty was still clear. He was her Father, she was his child, and together they would march to Eden’s Gate.

However, despite everything, Joseph felt himself pitying the Deputy as she fell apart, as he watched her crumble to pieces right in front of him. His empathy overshadowed his anger as it almost always had. He watched her from that chair as she sobbed and screamed, begging him to kill her. She pulled at her cuffs, hurling curses at him, swearing that she hated him, calling him a monster until she grew weak again. She’d vomited on the floor several times by the time she was finished.  
Joseph didn’t move. He let her mourn; mourn the results of her error, the loss of her world, her home, her friends, and her purpose. He waited as she lamented over the realization that all the destruction was by her own actions. She was the tipping point. The harbinger of the Collapse. Her cries lasted long into the night. Joseph had remained awake with her in that room, he didn’t uncuff her, he didn't touch her, he didn’t soothe her. He let her accept her punishment, Despair. Screams turned to cries turned to whimpers turned to sniffling, until she fell unconscious from exhaustion. The energy that radiated from her body since the beginning had faded completely, replaced with the empty, lifeless expression of a woman in hell, a woman who had died in every way except physically.

 

“Open.”

The Deputy just sat there, unmoving, barely acknowledging the plate of food he held in front of her and the spoon against her lips other than a split-second glance.

Joseph sighed. “You need to eat, child.”

He pushed the spoonful of brown rice at her lips until she parted them enough for him to feed her. She chewed slowly, not meeting his eyes. He grabbed the small trash bin sitting next to her and waited to see if she would throw up, but when she finally swallowed, he continued to feed her.  
When she had eaten enough to satisfy him he pulled a key from his back pocket and unlocked her handcuffs. For a moment she did nothing, but then slowly stood and walked to the bathroom down the hall.  
This had been the routine for over a week since the Collapse.  
It didn’t bother Joseph much, having to take care of the Deputy. He frequently prayed for the strength to care for his enemy, despite everything she had taken from him.

“But if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head.” -Romans 12:20

Joseph understood. Her despair was debilitating.  
She didn’t speak, she didn’t have the energy or will to fight him. She would spend hours staring at nothing with tear-filled eyes or crying in her sleep. She only existed.  
But Joseph was a patient man. He had all the time in the world now. He would wake her each morning and uncuff her. He would clean her wounds and brush her hair. He would feed her and let her use the bathroom. Then he would recuff her to her bed. It was much less a precaution for his safety and much more for hers. He suspected that she might try to end her own life if left unsupervised. He couldn’t allow that. She was all the family he had left; and he was all she had left too. When she cried at night, restless, he would come and pray over her. He would read from the Bible or sing hymns until her exhaustion got the better of her and she finally slept. At the end of the third week, her energy had returned somewhat. She began to use her voice again, barely above a whisper; ‘Joseph’, ‘Bathroom’, or ‘Water’’  
It meant progress to Joseph, and he found himself feeling proud of her. His enemy.  
It was a new beginning for the both of them, and he welcomed it. He prayed frequently for the strength, to push the past aside, as a merciful, forgiving father would. Even though the pain she had given him in the name of what she believed could be felt each day he awoke without his brothers, and the deafening silence of no singing congregation, he understood that his will was not for her to suffer eternally, and when her punishment had finally passed, he would not torment her.

 

You had asked yourself more times than you could count, why Joseph even bothered with you. You, his enemy. The woman who had killed his family, burned his bunkers to the ground, shot down multitudes of his followers without so much as a second thought. Yet here he was, feeding and caring for you as if he had no ill will against you. You would watch him with a sullen gaze as he approached you each morning. He would offer you food, his eyes begging you to eat something as if he really cared whether you wasted away or not. His expression and voice were always pleasant, his hands never hit you. He didn't need to. His eyes said everything. Every time he looked at you, you were reminded of every time before then, before the Collapse. The way he pleaded with you to trust him, to believe him. When he touched you with his hands or placed his head upon yours, leaning so close you could smell him. The smell of the old wood of the church, of bliss flowers, and vanilla. The way his eyes used to plead with you to listen, to turn back, to let him save you. So many times you were almost completely captivated by those eyes. Almost gave in completely. You thought of how close you were to walking out of that church with those handcuffs still on your hip, how close you were to sparing his family, and the pain it brought you to end them. It all haunted you now. Because over time you understood. Him, his faith, and his purpose. But you didn’t believe, not until it was far too late, and now the world above was destroyed. Everyone and everything you’d known was gone, leaving you with Joseph. Just Joseph. Your enemy.

He was in the other room, and you could hear him sweeping the floor of the bunker, whistling ‘Amazing Grace’ to himself. A song that at first gave you chills. He sang it in the helicopter, before the crash, he sang it when the nukes went off over the horizon, he whistled it as he pulled your body from that flaming car and carried you to Dutch’s bunker. But you realized that it was his comfort. He had the grace of God, he had been saved.  
You wanted to talk to him, but as you opened your mouth, the words faded. Was this giving in? Was this weakness? No, you had lost the war the day you refused to walk away. If this was hell, it could at least be home.  
As if he could hear your thoughts, Joseph’s footsteps approached until he gently pushed the door to your room open. He was shirtless, of course, but by now you were used to it. He watched you for a moment, before giving a soft smile and taking a few slow steps closer. He had the same confident swagger to his walk as the day you’d met him. You marveled at the way his eyes held no visible anger towards you, even though he was looking at the person who had murdered his family.

You motioned to the handcuff that held one of your wrists to the metal frame of your bed.  
“How long do I have to be like this?”

Joseph seemed surprised you had spoken in a complete sentence. It had been the most you’d said since the bombs fell. But he just shook his head.  
“Until I trust you, not to hurt yourself.”

You gave a wry laugh. “I’m already dead.”

Joseph exhaled, walking closer, slowly, until he sat down on the edge of your bed. He tugged at the rosary wrapped around his hand passively.  
“Then until I trust you not to run away.”

You shrugged, lowering your gaze from his piercing eyes.  
“Where would I go?”

Joseph watched you in silence for a moment. Then he closed his eyes. He stayed that way for an unusual amount of time. Was he praying? Was he debating whether all this was worth it and if he should just kill you now and get it over with?

“Joseph,” You called, quietly.

He opened his eyes, briefly regarding you before idly looking around the room. He clearly hadn’t decided.  
An idea came to you.

“What if I’m still cuffed, just not to the bed?”

Joseph blinked at you, unusual for him. He typically could hold a stare for a long time without blinking. Uncertainty. Something he almost never experienced. But he nodded once and reached into his back pocket.

“Alright.”

The glint of a key flashed in your eyes as he leaned forward, reaching for your arm and unlatching you from the bed frame. He took the open cuff and hooked it around your other wrist. You sat up fully, watching him with cautious eyes.

Joseph glanced up at you, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Do you hate me?”

Part of you instantly thought 'Yes'. Another part, hidden and suppressed, hesitated. Did you? Was 'hate' the word for how you felt towards him? Even after everything he had done against you and your friends, it didn't make sense to you why 'hate' felt like too strong a word, but it was. You didn't hate anyone, you couldn't. Maybe 'strongly dislike' would've been better. You sighed. “I don't know, Joseph.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and stood from the bed, walking towards the door. You passively regarded the many tattoos that covered his back Some you could understand, others you couldn't. There were many scars as well, whether from the car crash or an earlier time, you didn’t know.  
You slowly rose from the bed and followed behind him at a distance.

 

When Joseph turned back and saw her, he noticed something for the first time. Something he hadn’t seen since the bombs fell; since the Collapse.  
If he had blinked he would’ve missed it. Glistening behind each of the Deputy’s once lifeless eyes:  
A tiny flame.


	2. Blurred Lines and Baked Chicken

After finding a set of clean clothes from a personal locker full of self-care items and fitted outfits you’d made for yourself at Dutch’s in the past, you quietly slipped past Joseph’s room and into the bathroom at the other end of the bunker. Thankfully, there was a second and much more private shower there. The idea of bathing in the open hall where Joseph could easily walk by made you cringe.  
You stopped as you noticed your reflection in the mirror over the sink:  
Dark circles under your eyes, scabbed cuts and scrapes over your skin, cheeks slightly sunken in. At least your hair was somewhat normal thanks to Joseph’s uncomfortably intimate habit of brushing it in the mornings. It hadn’t bothered you then, but thinking about it now made you feel awkward. He had always tied it back into a bun similar to his with a rubber band you’d assumed he found somewhere in the bunker.  
Even with your handcuffs, you showered in steaming hot water, using way too much soap. You scrubbed your scalp and skin till they were red and every speck of dirt and grime were removed. You were thankful that Joseph had not taken it upon himself to bathe you. The times where he fed you were uncomfortable enough. It wasn’t the grief and pain you’d felt that prevented you from responding well, as much as it was the way his eyes seemed to stare directly into your soul while he would hold a spoon to your lips and coax you into eating. At first, you’d refused out of shock, then from spite. Eventually, his eyes did the work they seemed to do so well and you relented. You swallowed your pride along with the food in those times and accepted the help of your enemy.  
You stood under the water for a few minutes longer, letting it run through your hair and into your face before stepping out, toweling off, and changing into new clothes.

You had taken quite a bit of time getting familiar with Dutch’s bunker in the months before the collapse. After long missions, you would make a trip back to the island to recount to him everything you’d experienced firsthand. He had been abrasive when you’d first met, but you found he quickly warmed up to people when they proved themselves trustworthy. Humor as dry as his whiskey, he never ceased to make you laugh. Once, when you two were chatting over his favorite apple cider, you’d slipped up and called him ‘Grandpa’ on accident. He wasn’t surprised at all. In fact, he gave you a hearty laugh and an encouraging swat on the arm. You decided to call him Grandpa from then on and even promised to help him find a way to get a permit for collecting rainwater.  
The War Room had clearly been renovated by Joseph while you were held up in your room. The pictures of each Seed sibling posted on the first large bulletin board in the room were missing, and you figured Joseph had taken them for himself. You approached the large map of Hope County on the second bulletin board, tracing your fingers over the many notes and news clippings pinned to it. Your eyes found a small polaroid picture taped to the board. You lifted it and tears threatened to form. It was a photo of you and Dutch that was taken shortly after liberating the island from Eden’s Gate. It was one of the rare moments he had really smiled. Your mind abruptly switched to the memory of his dead body on the floor in front of you, and you quickly shook the thought from your head as you heard Joseph's footsteps approaching from behind and stopping in the doorway.

You didn’t move. “Did you bury him?”

“Yes,” was all he said.

Joseph didn’t hover around you. Instead, he told you he was going to pray and closed himself off in his room once more.  
As you traversed the halls of the bunker, you stopped in the living room. It was a complete wreck.  
Books scattered across the dusty plaid couch on the left side of the room, the floor cluttered with papers. Definitely not the way it was when Dutch was around.  
The only positive thing you could note is that Joseph at least found the time to feed the fish in the tank above the bookshelf.  
The kitchen-

Lord.

The kitchen was a total disaster. The stove was covered with grime and grease, the sink and countertop were filled with dirty dishes, and the dining table was a wreck. Three weeks worth of garbage and old food littered the space. Was Joseph raised by wolves?  
You sighed, trying to ignore the smell of old food and burned pans while you thought.  
You were going to have to clean up. Joseph clearly wasn’t the tidy type, or maybe he was used to having his followers do all the work for him.  
Handcuffs were gonna be an obstacle, but the keys were always in Josephs back pocket, and you didn’t really want to interact with him at the moment.  
You’d make due.  
Approaching the sink you ran the water, grabbing the sponge from the counter and the dish soap. Carefully, you hand-washed each dirty dish, pan, and utensil in the room until they were all drying on the rack. That’s when you noticed the CD player sitting on one of the shelves, you approached it and turned it on, timidly pressing the play button. An 80’s mixtape began playing through the speakers and filling the room with familiar songs. It was enough to lift your spirits considerably, as music always did.  
You turned on the switch for the string lights strung across the ceiling, and the room’s usual blue glow was mixed with white light. You went to the bookshelf underneath the fish tank and re-stacked each book scattered around the room, humming along to the music. A broom sat propped up against the wall and you grabbed it as soon as ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees came on. You allowed yourself to smile for once in what seemed like forever. This was the song Sharky always loved to play, well, besides ‘Disco Inferno’.  
Charlemagne Victor Boshaw. He was one of the best friends you had made in Hope County. You remembered the day you’d met him. A wanted arsonist with a raspy voice, homemade flamethrower, and a love for disco music.  
You felt a pit form in your stomach. You had no idea if he was still alive. He and his cousin Hurk Jr. never ceased to make you laugh with their wild antics. You prayed that if anything, in the chaos of The Collapse, they’d made it to safety in time.  
As you swept the floor, you found yourself bobbing and swaying to the music with your broom and singing along. Remembering the times you and Sharky would turn taking down a cult-owned outpost into one big, loud musical number. In the pleasant memories, you forgot, for a brief time, that you were trapped in a bunker with Joseph Seed.

“Life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me~”

You swept the dirt and crumbs into a pile on the ground rhythmically, singing along to the lyrics, swaying your hips, and using the broom as a makeshift dance partner. 

Your cheerful antics were interrupted when the music cut off abruptly.

You jumped, dropping the broom with a shrill clank on the tile floor and turning around.  
Joseph was standing in the doorway, watching you with raised eyebrows and a finger on the CD player’s ‘stop’ button. He seemed slightly amused. He didn’t move, just watched as you tried to hide your embarrassment.  
His expression wasn’t accusatory, only curious. 

“What were you doing?” 

You coughed, picking the broom up off the floor and averting your eyes. 

“Cleaning.”

Joseph approached and looked behind you at the now sparkling countertop and cleaned dishes, giving a small hum of acknowledgment. He turned and grabbed a freshly washed pan from the drying rack.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What are you-”

“You must be hungry.” 

You quickly waved a hand, taking the pan from him. “I can cook.”

Joseph scoffed, reaching for it again. “You’re in handcuffs, that’s hardly safe.”

You frowned, hugging the pan to your body to keep it from him. A part of you wanted to make a harsh jab at his cooking. Considering in the last three weeks he had only made undercooked brown rice, canned soup, or watery boxed mac and cheese for the two of you, it was warranted. 

You stepped away from him. “I’ll manage.” 

He held his hands up in acceptance and left through the door. You breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the room. You didn't turn the CD player back on. You’d forgotten that even though the walls of the bunker weren’t thin, they sure as hell echoed.  
The clock on the wall told you it was a little after six in the evening.  
Approaching the food pantry you noted the selection. There were non-perishable food items, foods that clearly were for more immediate consumption, and the large freezer that held a large selection of frozen meats, vegetable steamer bags, and even desserts.  
After finding sufficient ingredients (thank you Dutch), you decided on baked lemon-rosemary chicken with steamed vegetables and rice. You thawed the chicken quickly with a technique that Kim Rye had taught you a few months back and the meal preparation went smoothly enough.  
As everything cooked, the delicious smell of real food filled the room and you found yourself humming to whatever random song popped into your head.

If this was hell, it could at least have good food.

Now came the hard part. You had to get Joseph.  
As much as you didn't want to interact with him, especially after the embarrassing events of earlier, it had to be done. Setting up the prepared food on the table, you exited the kitchen and approached Joseph’s room at the other end of the hall.

You felt yourself hesitate for a moment before knocking on the door, rocking back and forth on your heels impatiently until you saw the doorknob twist and the door swing open gently, revealing Joseph.  
He was clothed differently from before, now wearing a white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a newer pair of black trousers with his usual belt. His hair was down, brushing his shoulders and damp, his slightly overgrown beard was freshly trimmed. You assumed he must’ve taken a shower and changed while you were cooking. You’d never seen his hair loose before…  
He blinked at you once while tying his hair back up with an elastic band, before slowly resting his hands at his sides. You noted his body language and expression were always the same; calm, paced, steady. It still felt weird to look into his eyes directly, unhindered by his usual yellow-tinted aviator shades. Eyes that always seemed to be green, now a deep cerulean. It made you feel exposed. His voice broke the silence as he cleared his throat quietly, jolting you from your thoughts.

“What do you need of me, child?”

“Um. Dinner is ready.” Your voice faltered, barely above a whisper.

Joseph slicked the edges of his hair back with his hand and motioned for you to lead the way.  
As you both entered the kitchen, he stopped, taking a deep breath of the aroma that filled the room. He sat in the chair at the opposite end of the table as you poured him a glass of water with shaky, cuffed hands.  
You poured your own glass and settled timidly into the chair on the opposite end of the table. You began eating and watched through your lashes as Joseph took a bite of his own food. You could’ve sworn you saw the brief flash of a smile on his face. As he lifted his eyes to yours while he chewed, you lowered yours. You didn’t feel like having a conversation with him. The atmosphere felt suffocating.

Joseph’s voice was soft-spoken. “You cook well. Who taught you?”

Your chewing slowed down as you glanced up at him. “Myself.”

You couldn't tell which was worse, talking to Joseph or the long awkward pauses between when you did. You were used to having a cellphone in your lap to diffuse the tension. Joseph didn’t seem to think it was strange at all to watch you while you ate. You avoided his piercing gaze, whether out of awkwardness or fear that if you looked too closely you’d find the anger and disgust you knew he held towards you but kept concealed.

As your mind wandered aimlessly, you remembered something you didn’t understand, The Pilgrimage. You’d walked it on your own, out of curiosity more than anything, reading the stone plaques that were engraved and placed for new recruits to read and learn the basic doctrine of the Project. Your mind lingered on the thirteenth plaque.

‘After seven years, the Gates are opened to a changed world and the Father’s Chosen inherit our New Garden.’

“Why seven years?” You asked.

Joseph swallowed the mouthful he’d been chewing and took a sip of water before speaking.  
“Are you referring to the Word? The seven years that God will cleanse the earth?”

You nodded, and Joseph continued.

“There are many wicked people on this earth, God will curse them until they have all perished, and then we, his Chosen, will enter Eden’s garden.”

“When we first spoke, after my ‘baptism’, you said I was here for a reason.”

Joseph’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “You were chosen by God to come to Hope County. You were the harbinger of the Collapse, thus we began the reaping as a result of your arrival.”

You scowled. “You mean when you started kidnapping and torturing innocent people, stealing their land and supplies, and hanging their bodies on every street and bridge across the County?”  
You wanted to bite your tongue, but you could feel anger beginning to boil within you at his words. How could he speak about the death of hundreds of innocent people as if it were nothing?

Joseph’s expression fell, he could sense your animosity towards him now.

“You judge me; the things my Children have done. We only wished to save as many as we could, whether they wanted to be saved or not-”

“How can you say that? I watched your ‘Children’ put bullets in people’s heads, impale them on crosses, burn their bodies in bonfires, spit on their corpses, and force Bliss down their lungs, all while acting like they were ‘saving’ them. If anything, you did the exact opposite.”

Joseph said nothing to that. He only listened as you continued. He seemed surprised that you’d decided to step outside your usual limit of one-sentence responses.

“There were dead bodies on every street. We didn’t even have time to bury them all. People lost their families. People were begging for someone to save them from you! How many people did your family murder because they thought they were helping?”

Joseph didn’t miss a beat. “How many did you?”

You bit your tongue and looked down at your plate. Joseph didn’t hold back.

“All the people you’ve killed, and for what? How many more have yet to die because of your choices; because you thought a bullet could solve everyone’s problems? We were saving them, we gave them a chance for salvation, and you single-handedly doomed them all over again. Was it worth it?”

Your fists clenched as you glared at him. “You gave me no choice.”

Joseph’s eyes matched yours.  
“No, I gave you a choice. I gave you a choice when you first arrived. I gave you a choice even after every sin you committed; after all the lives you took, and you threw it away. I gave you the chance to walk away and after everything, you looked me in the eyes and told me ‘no’. It was never enough for you, was it?”

You shook your head, incredulous. “Enough for me? You were doing horrible things. I couldn’t just walk away.”

Joseph sighed. “I never claimed to be a perfect man. I am not immune to sin. But you saw the same things that I did. You were not blind like the rest of the non-believers. You were special.”

He held his hands out towards you; it was a gesture he had done many times in the past. If not for the table between you, he likely would’ve been physically touching you. But this time, his eyes were enough to pull you into that suffocating space, devoid of everything but the two of you, just as he had masterfully done before. You wondered if he was even aware he did it.

“You had a gift, just like I do; you knew the world was ending; it was falling apart right around us. We were on the edge of The Collapse. But you turned a blind eye because you didn’t want to see. Because you wanted to be the hero. You couldn’t swallow your pride for one second long enough to realize that you were fighting on the wrong side. At least I was willing to do what needed to be done to save everyone I could.”

You scoffed at his words. “But they’re all dead. You didn’t save them.”

Joseph tilted his head, his eyes burning holes into yours. 

“Neither did you.”

His words were a punch to the gut, as he’d likely intended them to be. 

You scoffed. “Then why am I here? Why haven’t you just killed me already?”

Joseph’s expression relaxed. “If I wanted you dead, I would’ve left you in that car to die with the rest of your friends. Unlike the monster you decided to see me as, I chose to extend you mercy.”

You had heard enough. You quickly stood from your chair and turned to leave.

“That was your mistake.”

 

 

Joseph watched as the Deputy left in a hurry. Alone with his thoughts, he mulled over her words. It wasn’t all her fault. He would’ve fallen prey to Pride if he couldn’t admit that.  
How many more people could he have saved if he had kept a tighter rein on his children? Had he trusted them too much?  
He knew the things they had done. He knew their dark pasts and traumatic upbringings. John was a perfect example. Left with unresolved rage he had stricken fear into even the most devout of his followers. Even if God had chosen them, it was likely that the sins of his Children had caused much more harm than good in Hope County. While he did what; remained at the compound giving sermons? He’d seen first hand the things that his Heralds had done to any that resisted them. But by then his hands were all but completely tied. John’s sadistic behavior alone was enough to warrant him getting a stern reprimand from Joseph on many occasions. Joseph had heard about him bombing the house of a non-believer out of embarrassment from a scolding on one occasion. Wrath, as he always was, could be useful. But like a fire, if left unchecked could grow into something unstoppable.  
Joseph partially blamed himself for not stopping his brother sooner, and the actions of his many Children as well.  
But they were all dead now, he couldn’t change that fact.

Joseph didn’t regret calling the Deputy out on her hypocrisy, just as she had with him.  
Joseph never claimed to be perfect. In many ways, they were both right and wrong. Maybe that's why they were the only two left after it all.  
Maybe this was the Lord’s reproof to them both. Two opposing sides, yet both the same, stuck with each other in a bunker underground.

Joseph stood and placed his empty plate in the sink, singing ‘Amazing Grace’ to himself as he went to his room to pray.  
As he knelt on the ground he could’ve sworn that he could hear, in the next room over where she was, the Deputy quietly singing along with him.


End file.
